Rising Debt
by flaafo
Summary: Oh god this was an old story idea. China/America  in that order . Yeah it's pretty old. I completely scrapped a scene, too.


"Alfred, aru. Wait."

America stopped from walking out the door, everyone gone from the meeting. It was just Him and China left, now. "Yes? What is it?"

"You owe me money, aru." China's face was painted with a serious tone, his brows furrowed and his lips tightened to a thin line. "I expect it to be paid soon."

America turned around, chuckling. That stupid grin on his face, like he didn't know what to take of the matter. "Well I don't have it right now," he said, still smiling. "I can pay you off bit by bit, though?"

There was a moment of tense silence, only broken by America's open-mouthed breathing and China's occasional sigh. "You don't understand. Paying me bit by bit will not help, aru."

America's face got serious. "But I also owe other people! I can't just pay you and ignore them. Do you know what would happen?" He held out his arms to try and give an example as to how many people he owed due to spending money that he didn't have.

China's expression stayed the same, but his body slackened. "You owe me the most, aru. I should start charging you interest."

"You'll do no such thing, Yao!" America fumed, "I'd never be able to pay you off then!"

"Ten percent."

"Ten per—That's outrageous!"

China shrugged his shoulders and looked straight into America's eyes. "You can't do anything about this, aru. You wouldn't dare fight me, and even if you did you have no gun on your person."

Feeling insulted at the stab of his fighting prowess, America lunged for China, expecting to catch him off-guard and land a punch. China, however, saw no such threat, and before he knew it, America was up in the air and thrown onto the center table.

_That little fucker threw me down! Like I wasn't even worth fighting_! America thought, dazed and frustrated.

"I expect that money to be paid off soon, or at least the interest, aru" China commented before leaving the room.

"You…You!" America stuttered, in vain.

"Alfred! Hey! What was that noise? Why are you on the bloody table? Get up!" England's voice was detached and floating in America's head.

"Uhg," America groaned, sitting up. "How'd he do it?"

England's fuzzy outline was just barely in front of America. "How'd who do what? Make sense, you tosser."

"China. He…He threw me to the ground." America now had his head cradled in his hands, feeling humiliated and defeated. "And I didn't do a damn thing about it," he wailed.

"What? Oh. China? But he looks too fragile to—Are you sure? You're not drunk off your rocker, are you?" England asked, patting America's cheek to make him come to his senses.

"Ah, non, Arthur," France said. (France is here, too?), "I 'ave 'eard that Yao doesn't 'ave strength, but he is quick on his feet and can use his opponent's strength against them."

Now America was back on his feet, albeit a little wobbly. "Next time I'll bring a gun, and—"

England put a hand on America's shoulder. "What good would a war do, really?" he asked.

"But—! Ten percent!"

* * *

Approximately fifteen weeks passed before the next confrontation; this time outside the UN building; America's territory.

America had been on edge the entire time, waiting to be stopped, waiting for that voice to call him over and demand that money.

Instead, China invited him over for tea.

"Perfect!" China exclaimed over the phone when America accepted. "There's a nice teahouse I know of. I'll give you the address tomorrow after the UN meeting and we can go there Saturday, aru."

"Saturday? Alright, I think I'm free, then," America replied. "Goodbye."

Well that was the oddest damn conversation America had in a while.

* * *

Why the hell did he think he'd win this? It was inevitable, what would happen. He—What's done was done.

America surveyed his surroundings. To be honest, the room was nice, a mixture of Eastern and Western cultured blended to create some sort of harmonious clash. A contradiction.

The chains were a bit much though. He could easily get out of the predicament, but China would get him again. So he stayed motionless on the bed, arms stretched out over his head, fists clenched, cursing out the nation.

China was keeping an eye on America. It was obvious from the occasional glances from the smudged mirror on the vanity. His expression was coy and mocking, like he was expecting America to pull a daring escape. "Well?" he finally asked, stepping away from the vanity and coldly glaring at America.

"'Well' what?" America repeated. If there was a joke, he clearly wasn't in on it.

China scoffed and crawled onto the bed, sitting cross-legged on America's chest. "You knew this would happen, aru."

"If I did, the outcome would have been different."

"Don't be that way, aru," China clucked, unbuttoning America's shirt. "Now, why don't we work on paying that interest?"


End file.
